Something Simple
by potterfanxp123
Summary: Ficlet number five, by popular demand, the results of the ClarkBuffy date!
1. The One

**DISCLAIMER:** Elements of _Buffy the Vampire Slayer_ and _Angel_ contained herein belong to Joss Whedon. Elements of _Smallville_ belong to Al Gough and Miles Millar. I claim no monetary value from the posting of this fanfiction, just my thanks to the respective creators for use of **their** products. 

**TITLE: SOMETHING SIMPLE**

Lois sighed as she pattered her way down the main street of Los Angeles, her feet throbbing, and her head aching from the exorbant amount of alcohol she had been challenged into drinking. Her stomach rolled with a fervor that she had not felt in many years, since she had initally given up binge drinking. She nearly fell, off balance, as a pair of small, strong arms wrapped around her torso.

She turned, her eyes widening as she took in the youthful looks of her supposed rescuer, her erstwhile drinking buddy, Darla. The woman had an air of arrogance about her that Lois simply had to beat out of the woman, and so, in a fit of arrogance, had taken the blonde's challenge.

Darla, it seemed, was made of stronger stuff than even Lois could give her credit for, and one-upping her at every turn. Where Lois would drink two shots of tequilla, Darla would drink three, and an added Vodka to up the stakes. Having drank much more than Lois herself, Darla, for all the alcohol in her system, wasn't in the slightest bit Dariusnk.

"Well," the blonde said, "I'd heard the daughter of General Sam Lane was quite the drinker, I'm glad the rumors held true. I haven't had that much fun since Angelus and I rampaged Europe in 1893. Come now, little girl, it's time to meet my children."

Darla dragged a struggling Lois into the nearest alleyway, where she said, "you see, Lois, we need someone that can get inside to see the General, someone that isn't afraid of the repercussions that come with attacking the man.

In essence, we need you, Lois. Darius, be a doll."

Darius, who was new to the brood, smirked, his face twisting, as his features turned demonic. Lois nearly screamed before a hand covered her mouth and said, "no, no dear girl. We can't have Angel coming to ruin the party."

Lois' eyes widened as she heard the name of her newest assignment, a Vampire named Angel that ran "Angel Investigations", a newly formed detective service that specialized in protection services. She struggled again as a pair of fangs pressed into her neck, drawing a small amount of blood.

She shivered lightly, the hands around her waist moving up to cup her breasts. She growled under her breath, kicking her assailant in the kneecap, smiling at the sound of the Vampire's bones breaking.

A second later, she was on the ground, a gash in her cheek running diagonally to the left.

A fire lit in Lois' eyes as she stood, her body moving into a familiar standing position that her father had insisted she learn. As Darius, who apparently was made of tougher stuff than she realized, stood back up, Lois again proceeded to break his knee. She kicked at Darla, who jumped back, and spun, ending in a crescent kick on top of the brunette Vampire's head, the slightly psychotic look on her face scaring Lois the tinest bit.

Lois rolled forward, ending with her arms crossing her face, as a fist came at her. She swept her leg out, catching Darla, who fell to the ground. Lois smirked, and ran up the stairs. As she did, though, the door opened and a bleach blonde Vampire smirked at her, the cigarette in his hand flickering in the dark of the night.

"Spike," the woman said, "get her. Don't let her get away."

Spike nodded, grabbing Lois at the wrist, and dragging her back downstairs, his strength a lot more powerful than the newly risen. He walked over to the brunette, placed a large, raunchy kiss on her, and said, "hey Pet."

The woman smiled, humming a soft song in her head.

Lois suddenly found herself encircled by the Vampire's, cursing each and every one of them for her inebrated state. She shook the cobwebs from her mind, focusing as she had taught herself so long ago, and eying each of them with a look of unbridled fury.

As Darla attacked, the woman said, "the stars shine brightly tonight, the one is coming."

This paused the Master Vampire in her tracks, as she said, "the one? Who's the one?"

Drusilla shuddered, and shook her head, before turning. "Hurry we must, the one is coming."

Darla smirked and nodded, the four Vampire's turning their visage demonic, before they all plunged towards the jugular veins.

Time slowed as the four Vampire's moved toward the girl, as a force threw them toward and into the walls, a tall, black haired teenager standing behind his unconscious, best friend. Drusilla whimpered, before backing up softly, as Spike ran forward and pulled out a knife. He plunged the knife forward, and into the abdomen of his potential meal, the blade shattering upon impact.

The teen grabbed his wrist, throwing him up and over his head, the Vampire's head cracking as he hit the wall. Darla was next, her teeth plunging down onto the boy's neck, and shattering as they hit the rock hard defense of his skin. Darius, who had until this time, remained knocked out, ran toward Lois and picked her up, his teeth falling to drain her of her life-force.

An intense red light connected with his chest before his teeth made their mark, a fire spreading from his center and outward, as his body splattered into dust. Darla backed up, and ran for the exit, leaving Drusilla whimpering in the corner and Spike unconscious. She opened the door, a steady stream of sunlight hitting her full force, and burning her from the outside in.

The teen bent down and said, "tell your friends that if any of them go after Lois Lane, they deal with me."

Drusilla nodded, her hand crossing her unbeating heart. _End_


	2. Drinking Buddies

**TITLE: Something Simple: Drinking Buddies**

**DISCLAIMER:** _Smallville_ and _Buffy the Vampire Slayer_/_Angel_ are not mine. In fact, the money made off of both of these shows has **NEVER** seen fit to make it into my hands. _Smallville_ produced by Al Gough/Miles Millar! _Buffy the Vampire Slayer_/_Angel_ are Joss Whedon's. My loss, ne? 

Chloe sighed, her head throbbing from the inconsummate amount of alcohol in her system. The beer mug in her hand swished lightly as she slished it around, the smell assaulting her senses, and making the slightly older than eighteen year old sick to her stomach. 

Her mind was a flutter of activity, as it replayed all the signs that she should have seen. The miraculous, if not somewhat eerie, ability to show up exactly when he's needed, and not before, or after. The assurance, if not arrogance, in himself through impending odds. The narrow escapes from the jaws of defeat, and sometimmes death. 

"Why didn't I see it?" she asked herself. "Was I so blinded by his sweet, loving exterior that I never saw the Super-strong farmboy behind it?" 

She held her hands in her head, groaning as a hand landed on her shoulder. She looked up to see a man about 6'4" tall, bleach blond hair, and a leather duster, holding a shot glass in his hand. His voice, so obviously British, was slightly brough, as he said, "sounds like you and me are in the same boat, Pet." 

Chloe looked up, her eyes meeting those of his, the shocking blue pools adorning his head showing his real concern. The girl moved aside, making the smallest bit of difference, concerining his wide shoulder width. Her eyes narrowed as she looked at him, his posture too practiced, to relaxed, especially for someone as drunk as he seemed to be. 

"Hey Pet," the man said, "name's Spike." 

"Chloe," the blond said. "Whaddya mean we're in the same boat, Mister?" 

Spike sighed, "well," he said, "there's this blonde bird that I'm falling for, hard. But, ya see, I have a shady past, done some things I'm not too proud of in my day, and she knows all about it. She's probably even stronger than your farmboy, so anything I try with her's a bad idea. She could snap me like a twig." 

Chloe sighed. 

"Clark would never do anything like that, though I doubt there's anyone on the planet as strong as he is." It was obvious the girl was drunk, Spike thought. Her motions, the tilting of her head to the left, the small amount of drool dripping down her chin, and her clouded over eyes. Spike sighed. 

"I wouldn't count my Buffy bit out," Spike said, "I've seen her pick a guy three times her size up and throw him cross the bloody room, did it too me a couple times back in the day. Add to the fact that she's a typical younger woman, with all your problems, and she can be a total bitch when she wants too. 'Specially at her time of the month." 

Chloe giggled, something anyone that knew the girl, realized never happened. "Well," she said, her voice slurring, "I saw catch a speeding car, and throw it over his head." 

Spike stared at the girl, cursing to himself, wondering which of his demon brethren this Clark bloke was. He was starting to sound like that Caleb sod. 

"In his bear hands, you say?" the aged vampire asked. Chloe nodded, "yep, that's after moving so fast it looked like he just appeared out of nowhere. Then, when he left, it was just like he popped out. I'm telling you, Spikey, Clark's got a secret." 

Spike sighed, the girl was nice and sloushed. Her head drooping to the table top, closer and closer, to passing out. 

"Buffy," the man said, "defeated a seventy-nine to ninety-foot snake that was uber strong, and could flatten a building with a swipe of it's tail. Still haven't got the full story on that, a matter of fact." 

"Hah," Chloe said, "I got one better than that. Clark fell over five-hundred feet and brushed the rock off of him without bruising." 

Spike sighed, now he was sure of it. Bloody bit about my height, baby blues, dark hair?" 

Chloe giggled, "yep," and said, "That's my Clarkie, alright. Cept, he's not MY Clarkie, he's Lois'... though he don't know it yet. I've seen it, the looks between them when no one's watching." 

Spike sighed, "I know the feeling, my... Uncle is... was in love with the same bird I am, and she was with him first. After they broke up, Angel went to L.A., Buffy stayed home. The bloody idiot talked about her when he was dying, got hurt in a car accident, and told me to tell her that he still loved her. 

How the hell do I do that?" 

Chloe smiled. "You jus' godda grin 'n bear it. What is it wit' boys an' emotions? The whole lotta you got problems." 

Spike laughed. "That's good advice, bit. This Clark chap seems to not know what he's missin'. Maybe you should tell him later." 

Spike got up, placing his empty bottle of tequila on the counter and said, "come on, Bit, I'll call you a cab. Least I can do for getting you knockered." 

Chloe stood up, grabbing her purse and Spike's duster, when the her cellphone rang. 

"Hey you," Chloe slurred as she put the phone to her ear. The phone rang again, and Chloe looked at it, hitting the button. 

"Bit," Spike asked, grabbing the phone before it hit the ground. Her eyes were wide, shock running through her entire system. She shook her head, grabbing the phone and said, "Spike, do you think you can take me to Smallville? It's an emergency." 

Spike nodded. Helping her pile onto the motorcycle, and told her to wrap herself around his waist, before revving the engine. 

As Chloe replayed the words her cousin had spoken over the phone, a lone tear came to her eye, and she sniffled. 

_Chloe,_ Lois had said, _you need to come to Smallville's place right away. It's Alicia, she's been murdered. Clark found her, and is really upset._

As the motorbike passed the "Now Leaving - Metropolis" sign, Chloe sighed, the wind helping to wake her from her potential slumber. 

"Oh Clark," she whispered, a lone tear trailing down her face, "I'm so sorry." 

_End_


	3. The Socialite

**TITLE: Something Simple: The Socialite**

**DISCLAIMER:** _Smallville_ belongs to Al Gough/Miles Millar, and _Buffy the Vampire Slayer_/_Angel_ were created by Joss Whedon. If I owned any of these shows, I'd by me a jetplane... no a jetski... no a Harley... no a House... well anyway... I don't own any of those things, so I can't own the shows. Sad, huh?

Cordelia smiled as she danced around the multitude of people inside Queen Plaza. Her agent had called her earlier, saying that he was going to be in attendance, stating that it would be good for her image to be seen helping in the fundraiser.

As soon as was possible, Cordelia had called Angel and told him that her big break was coming up, and that she'd need the night off. She assured him that she'd be at work the next day... unless he got an audition. While not particularly happy about the news, Angel, in his usual brogue voice told her to, "have fun and stay safe", an utter impossibility now that she'd been jinxed.

"Mr. Harrison," Cordelia said, her thoughts shaken from her head as the tall-headed, gray haired man in front of her turned around. Richard Harrison may not have been one of the best agents in L.A., but he was one of the few with connections to high-risers like Oliver Queen. She had applied at, and been accepted to, his agency when she surprised them by acting out a scene from an award-winning Soap Opera, despite being totally against the sexist assumption that she, in any way, associated with them.

Plus the fact that this particular scene was created before she was born, so there was no chance of her having seen it before.

"Cordelia, I'm glad you could make it. I was about to call in Sophia, had you been another five minutes late."

She sighed, Sophia Reynolds was one of her biggest rivals when it came to parts like these, playing the socialite, a good acting experience, as well as a way to make proper connections for herself **and** the company. Usually, she'd be on the arm of Mr. Harrison, or one of his son's, while helping entertain large masses.

As soon as it was over, so was the job. Nothing expected other than allowing her boss to make more connections, without vilifying herself.

Richard took her arm and said, "You're very lucky tonight, Cordelia. Our guest speaker convinced her son to come last minute, and because of this, the poor slob didn't have a date tonight.

Cordelia winced. _Crap_ she thought, _here I was hoping he'd be good-looking at least._

Richard took her by the arm, weaving in and out of the group of important, socially elite, contributors. "Ollie," the man said. She looked, gasping at the known playboy, Oliver Queen. He was worth more than all of Sunnydale. "Richard," the man said, "lovely to see you."

The man smiled. "And you. Oliver Queen, this is Cordelia Chase. She's one of my newest clients. Has the Senator arrived yet?"

Oliver sighed. "She hasn't. She called earlier, apparently there was a situation at the airport, a tall, black haired fellow was running after what seemed to be a demon. They locked down the airport, and she and Clark just escaped. Oh, Richard. Have you met my date, yet? Lois Lane?"

Cordelia eyed the woman before her, who seemed to have a natural beauty about her, and wasn't at all uncomfortable in, or around, herself. She hadn't even indicated a wish to be introduced, and yet seemed assured that Oliver would, in fact, do that. "Her father, Sam, arrived just before you did."

"Sam?" Cordelia asked. Lois sighed, rolled her eyes, and nudged the billionaire in the ribs, who winced and said, "right... sorry."

Suddenly, the door opened, and a woman in a red, sparkling satin dress, a taller man with a graying beard, and a tall, black haired teen with rippling muscles visible under his suit, stepped inside the door. Cordelia gasped, her breath coming in short, violent gasps, as his sharp blue eyes eyed the room, and he turned to the woman, before smiling at the woman in front of her.

The woman sighed, "he really _can_ pick a needle in a haystack."

Cordelia glanced, a sudden feeling of dread coming over her as she looked toward the door, sure that any second, the Senator was going to enter, and her short, geeky son with glasses, was going to trip.

"Ah," she said as she felt her arm jerked. She looked at Richard, who's gaze was steely eyeing the group in front of him. Oliver smirked, before he said, "it's fine, Richard. I've known Clark for a few months now, and Lois for a few years, he's more than trustworthy. Of course, if Cordelia's reaction to just seeing him is as rewarding as this, I'll have to ask Martha to think about moving to California."

The man gazed at the billionaire, wondering when the geeky one had entered, her entire body screaming to go to the hunk of salty goodness that was standing not even fifty feet from her. She whimpered as the grip on her arm tightened and Richard said, "Cordelia, something about this doesn't feel right. I want you to take this, just in case."

She slipped the can of mace in her purse, sure that she'd probably need to keep the little geek's hands off her somehow. Lois, for her benefit, merely smirked and said, "HEY! SMALLVILLE!"

Suddenly, to Cordelia at least, it was almost as if watching a waterfall in slow motion. The hunk of salty goodness turned, a wide grin on his face, as he nudged the woman to his right and said something that looked oddly like, "I'll be right back."

The woman eyed the group and nodded, before she said something that looked like, "fine, but hurry up."

The boy then stepped away from the group, unconsciously shifting socialites out of the way with his penetrating gaze. "Oliver, good to see you." the man said, eyeing the man happily. Oliver smiled, his eyes seeming to convey some sort of message, as he turned to Lois. The girl, forgoing all forms of polite decorum, punched the man in the arm.

She eyed Richard, who's grip had ended, and she said, "so, when is my... date getting here?"

Lois smirked, before saying, "yeah, Smallville. When's her date getting here?"

Cordelia turned her head, expecting an answer, before her eyes widened and she said, "Are you for real?"

Oliver smiled, "Cordelia Chase, I'd like you to meet Clark Kent, the only son of Senator Martha Kent. Clark, this is Cordelia."

Clark eyed Cordelia speculativley, his eyes not even wandering below her eyes, before he held his hand and said, "Miss Chase."

Cordelia closed her eyes, suppressing her urge to squeal, as she said, "Mr. Kent, it's Cordelia."

"Call me Clark," the man said, "though I wish I'd known you were planning this, Oliver. Or was this you're idea?" he turned to the girl on Oliver Queen's arm. The girl simply smirked and said, "you know me, Smallville."

After the group split, Cordelia led Clark around the room, introducing him to the rest of the socialites in the room, though she was surprised that he already knew both Lex and his new wife, Lana. She saw the longing gaze directed toward the brunette and gasped, before watching his gaze turned cold toward the bald-headed billionaire.

"Well," she said, "as fun as this is, we've more people to speak with, Mr. Luthor. Mrs. Luthor."

Clark said, "Yeah, bye Lex. Lana."

As they walked away, Cordelia sighed. "Since when are farmers on first-name basis with billionaires?"

Clark's gaze hardened, and she shut up. "Sorry. I'm supposed to be entertaining you, while your mom does her thing."

"It's fine... there's just a lot of bad blood between Lex and me, one of which was his new... wife."

Cordelia nodded.

The night moved quickly, as seconds turned to minutes, and those to hours. Martha's speech was set to start at 11:45, and the woman looked all but a measure of calm. Cordelia sighed, as she eyed an empty seat, surprised when the man at her side said, "those heels can't be good on you, why don't we make our way to the tables. Mom's speech is going to start soon."

Cordelia groaned as the chair squealed when she sat down, her blue dress lifting just a fraction up her legs as she sat in the leather chair. As the bell chimed the fifteen minute mark, the room quieted.

The reaction to the speech given was one of the most responsive that she'd ever heard, it seemed as if every socialite in attendance werer inspired by her words. After the ten minute speech, the sound of scribbling could be heard, and the ripping of paper could be made out, as ushers holding golden trays walked around, thanking the socialites for their contribution.

"so," the woman asked a few minutes after the fundraiser ended, "anymore like you at home?"

Clark smiled, his grin on his face telling her all she needed to know. "Figures."

_End_


	4. Supplemental Measures

**TITLE: Supplemental Measures**

**DISCLAIMER: **_You know the drill. _Smallville_ and _Buffy the Vampire Slayer_ aren't mine. In fact, not even the names Gough, Millar, or Whedon can be made from my name, in any way. The short of it is, if you recognize it, it aint mine._

"What kind of experience working with plants, and crazy, plant obsessed women do you have?" the hyperactive voice of Anya Jenkins asked, looking to her opposite. 

The man sitting there was large, his dark hair and blue eyes seeming clashing and nearly perfect, save for the horn-rimmed glasses he wore. The question, one that someone with experience in dealing with the supernatural would catch as some kind of demon, not to be talked about, was one that she asked all potential employees. 

"More than you'd expect, I'd bet," the man, his voice, a lower octave than she would have expected said. "I grew up in Kansas." 

Anya shuddered, a shuddering fear slithering down her spinal cord, as her eyes widened. She nodded her head numbly. It was a well-known fact that _that place_ had more problems than Sunnydale. 

"Have you ever had someone mess with your mind in such a way, that they were attempting to make you believe the last few years of your life weren't true?" 

"As a matter of fact," the man said, "yes. He was taken care of." 

Anya made a few notes on her clipboard, her eyes roaming the black sweater suit, with the funny blue symbol on it. She had asked what it meant earlier, but the man said, "it's too sentimental to explain in length, but just know that it's a family crest." 

"Have you ever had a teacher, or someone you trust, attempt to do any of the following? Seduce Kill Turn into a psychopatic praying mantis (or some other creature of unbelievable strength) Willingly expose you to something that weakened you, considerably Use magic on you, stripping away all of your strength All of the Above 

The man frowned, before he said, "yes, yes, no, yes and yes." 

Anya smiled, her face darkening considerably. Kansas sounded more horrible than _bunnies_. 

"If you were walking on one side of the street, and a horribly disfigured man was attacking a woman, would you intervene?" 

"In a heartbeat," the man said with a chuckle. Anya smiled. "Good," she thought to herself, "he knows about Vampires." 

"Last question, how do you feel about immortality?" 

She froze in her seat as the man frowned, his eyes portraying something she hadn't seen in his eyes yet. Fear. The man said, "I don't know. I wouldn't want to live forever." 

The woman smiled, "thank you for coming to Last Chance Dating Services, Mr. Kent. We have the perfect match in mind for you, with a 98 chance of successful copulation. Willow will give you all the information on our match as you step out. Have a great date!" 

As the six feet plus man walked out of the room, the red head said, "your date will be with Miss Buffy Summers, tonight at seven. She'll meet you in front of the LuthorCorp building, wearing a black leather jacket with our pin attached to the front." 

Clark nodded, walking out of the double doors. Well, if nothing else, he _did_ get a date out of this. And Chloe said he didn't have any interpersonal skills. 

_End_


	5. Supplemental Measures: The Results!

**TITLE: Supplemental Measures 2**

**DISCLAIMER: **_You know the drill. _Smallville _and _Buffy the Vampire Slayer _aren't mine. In fact, not even the names Gough, Millar, or Whedon can be made from my name, in any way. The short of it is, if you recognize it, it aint mine._

Clark stood, nervously anticipating the arrival of his unexpected date. When he arrived to L.A. earlier in the day, hoping to investigate the symbol attached to the "Last Chance Dating Service", the Kryptonian letter equivalents of L, C, D, and S, arranged in block formation, he hadn't expected the slightly intimidating blond, and even more redhead to interrogate him.

They, he realized, spent an inordinate amount of time looking at his former attire, a black suit with the blue Kryptonian crest for the house of El situated in the center. Honestly, he only wore it because Chloe said it was his best suit.

Shaking himself lightly, Clark looked up at the now rapidly darkening sky. The smell of sweet, as-of-yet unfallen rain lingering in the air, and off in the distance, blackened skies. The winds had picked up very recently, and Clark was sure a thunderstorm of epic proportions was upon them.

"Excuse me," a voice startled him out of his contemplation. Clark looked at the woman that stood mid-chest on him, her stature ending around five-three. Her blond hair flowed down her back and the sides of her face, as green eyes stared at him, as if studying him. She was dressed in blue jeans and a black t-shirt, with a black leather jacket on the side. He searched out for the symbol, and noticed an odd sensation in the back of his mind, as the letters rearranged themselves to spell, "date".

"Yes, are you Buffy?" Clark asked, and could have kicked himself. The woman, it seemed, looked amused. Her eyes met his, and Clark couldn't help but feel the unbridled power held in them, eyes that held far more than what they should, at her young age.

"Good to meet you, I'm Clark Kent."

"So that's mystery-man's name?" Buffy asked, "Willow and Anya wouldn't tell me what you're name was, only that if our friend Cordelia had still been around, you'd be the very definition of Salty-goodness."

Clark laughed lightly. "Thanks. I'm assuming that was a complement? Shall we?"

Buffy stood there, though Clark had his arm stretched out toward her, waiting for a responce. He stood still, his six-three frame suddenly rigid. Some instinct in him screamed at his mind, that he was being tested. She looked into his eyes, a fleeting though of the eyes being the windows to the soul passed over him briefly, and he dared not blink.

It was an unwelcome feeling, and Clark had too fight all of his six-three frame against lashing out. He bit the tip of his tongue, and kept his eyes staring at hers, waiting for her to make the first move.

She did, luckily, less than a minute later. Wrapping her arms around his, Clark could tell that Buffy had accepted his offer for what it was.

"I wasn't sure what you liked, but I've made reservations at _La Costa de la Mar_. It's a Mexican restaurant. I was hoping we could talk over dinner, and if you're up to it, a movie."

Buffy responded by squeezing his bicep.

"You were supposed to arrange for transportation?" she asked. Clark nodded. "Yeah, it's right here. It was my dad's. He died a little under two years ago."

He mounted the motorcycle, which was obviously well taken care of, if the sound of the engine was any indication. Buffy noticed him take his glasses off, wondering why he'd do that, when Clark said, "they're reading glasses. I've got perfect vision normally, but it's just become second nature to put them on when I'm going to read papers. I wore them earlier so you'd know it was me, since I know they gave you a description."

She accepted his answer to her silent question at face value. As the sound of the Harley-Davidson filled the air, Buffy tightened her grip around his waist and said, "well, are we going or not?"

The speed at which Clark took off insured her grip would be tight enough to crack ribs.

_La Costa de la mar_ was one of Los Angeles' most exclusive restaurants. In order to get in, Buffy remembered, you'd either have to be someone, or know someone powerful enough, to even make it an inch in the door. The closer they pulled to the entrance, the colder Buffy was beginning to feel. She'd never been here, the Watcher's Council adamantly refusing to let her go on the premise that frivilous spending of funds couldn't go on her expenditure account.

And yet, Clark Kent, hadn't a problem getting in.

They approached the door, where the massive bouncer turned their way, his arms crossed. Buffy tried to move surreptiously in front of her tall date-for-the-evening, but was surprised when Clark said, "I've got reservations. Clark Kent."

The man looked down at his list, flipping through at a fast order and nodded, lifting the barrier and nudged his head. Clark, and Buffy, slipped in quietly, as the bouncer stepped in front, the flashing of cameras following the Slayer inside.

Buffy had, since meeting the tall male leading her in, struggled to figure him out. His waist was made of steel, making her enhanced Slayer strength pale in comparison. Yet, his arm, that she'd held not so long ago, was smooth. His eyes were warm, inviting, and yet had a reservation about them that she'd not seen in a long time.

His posture was one of a man confident in his abilities, yet his attitude was of someone afraid of his own skin.

In essence, he was a mystery. And yet, with all these marks, things that'd have a lesser man against the wall with a stake or axe running through them, against him, she felt safe. It was _exciting_.

The interior, she noticed, was a polar opposite from the outside. The walls were painted white, and each table was surrounded by a wall that, she was sure, was meant for total privacy. She felt the slight tingle of magic wash over her, as they got closer to the waiters podium, and was surprised to feel Clark shuffle uncomfortably against it, too.

"Welcome to _La Costa de la Mar_, name?"

"Clark Kent. This is my date, Buffy Summers."

"Ah yes, Mr. Kent. You're business associate called ahead and asked that I place a bottle of Spanish Wine on for you. How is Mr. Queen, if I may ask?"

Clark looked at him, the man having flipped a pad over the edge of his arm with code the Justice League, as they had started calling themselves, indicated that he was in the know.

"He's alright, in Albania actually. He's tracking a potential site for expansion."

As the man smiled, Clark quietly excused him and said, "we'll be ready to order in a few minutes, thank you."

The man nodded, walking out of the room as Clark smiled toward the blonde.

"You have friends in high places, Kent."

"You can say that again, my mother is United States Senator Martha Kent."

Buffy's eyes widened, as she had definately heard of the woman senator that was making waves with her policies. "Wow, I'm honored to be in your presence."

Clark blushed. "Don't be, mom's the one doing all the hard work. I'm here because it isn't planting season, and with her working there, the farm has had a few extra funds recently."

Buffy nodded. "Well, while we're on the subject, I guess I can tell you that I work for a privately run organization that caters in old, abscure languages."

"Oh, so that's why they're using Kewatche as their logo?" Clark asked, watching as she did a double take. Clark smiled, "don't worry, I'm the one that found the Kewatche Caves, I know all about the mystery surrounding them. I was intrigued though, when I realized they could read it."

Buffy frowned. "That's our job. Anyway, that's interesting. That makes you an expert on them right?"

Clark shrugged, "I'm sure if I asked, Joseph would definately say that I was. I'm not a tribesman, but I was as good as adopted in."

Buffy frowned, "wow. We're barely scratching the surface of the language. It's amazing to actually meet someone that can read it. I may have an offer for you in the future, if you're interested"

Clark shrugged. "Alright, moving this conversation away from work," he said, adding a grin for affect, "what do you do for fun?"

"I spar, train in martial arts. I help run a dojo that is sponsored by my company, and love to see the excitement in my girl's faces when they learn a new kata."

Clark nodded. "Yeah, my friend Oliver does something simular. He teaches archery, and has tried teaching me. Apparently, I'm a hopeless shot, which is interesting because I can throw a football through a swing-wheel at five hundred feet."

Buffy's eyes widened. "Wow. Well, I'm not a hopeless shot, it's different when you're used to exerting yourself. Archery is all about precision."

Clark smiled. As the waiter came back, she said, "well, I think I want one of those nice steaks and spanish rice."

"Carne asada y arroz de espanol?" the man asked. Clark nodded and said, "two, please."

The man nodded. And left. Clark smiled. "Wow, that's a conversation starter. You speak Spanish?"

"Yeah, a little. After college, I plan on travelling for a while. Decide what I want to do in life."

"What? You have money?"

Clark shook his head. "No, I'm a journalism major. It was actually my friend Chloe and her boyfriend Jimmy that noticed the Kewatche and said that I should check it out. Our experience has shown that the use of the language has some symbolic meaning that shouldn't be exposed, so we keep a lookout for it."

Buffy nodded, "ours too. So what, you're going to travel around the world and post in different papers? Like the Borneo Gazette?"

"Yeah, I can see my first headline now, _'Mating Rituals of the Knob-Tailed Gecko.'_"

Buffy laughed. "Don't knock the Gecko's, they're mightily cute."

Clark looked at her. "Are you serious?"

She nodded, "Yeah, I went to Borneo once. It was nice."

"Cool. So, yeah, I figure I can head to Mexico first, and just head West from there. Hawaii sounds nice, visit the Volcanoes and take one of those helicopter rides."

"So, what do you do? I mean, what do you farm?"

"Dairy cows, eggs, hay. We breed horses, grain, corn. Actually, our farm is one of the biggest in the state of Kansas."

Buffy's hand stopped and Clark laughed. "That's the second time someone has reacted like that when I said that I was from Kansas."

Buffy smiled. "Sorry, we've had bad experiences in Kansas. We tried buying land there once, in a place called Smallville, when LuthorCorp ran us out with threats of takeover."

"That'd be Lex and Lionel no doubt. I know, they've tried buying the farm a couple of times. To think I actually saved Lex's life."

Buffy raised her head, realizing that she wasn't supposed to hear that last part. "You're _that_ Kent Farm? The farm we tried buying?"

Clark's head rose, as he choked out a laugh. "What?"

"Well, your farm is the biggest in Lowell County, right?"

Clark nodded. Buffy frowned. "Yeah, we tried buying your farm, your father had sighed the papes and everything, but somehow he died and Lex had the papers declared null and void."

"You work for Rickman?"

"No, he ran the agency we worked through."

Clark frowned. "Oh. Something about him didn't sit well with me. I have this habit of jumping to conclusions."

Buffy laughed. "Me too, don't worry about it. It'd be hypocritical to hold that against you."

As their food arrived, Clark picked up his napkin, tucking it into his leather jacket, and smiled at Buffy, who immitated him for the amusement it provided.

They ate in silence, each trying to explore the other surreptiously. Buffy would sneak a glance, every few minutes, and look down, only for Clark to return the favor.

"So," she asked a few minutes in, "you're the Clark Kent that went all-state, won a full scholarship at Met-U for football, and declined it? Why?"

Clark choked on his food this time, and his face turned red. "To be honest, I'm a lot stronger and faster than most people. I restricted my movements, and lost and won with the team, but at any time, I could have thrown a football field length pass and connected with my target's chest."

Clark's face paled significantly. Buffy's eyes widened, and she said, "shit."

"Yeah, I'm guessing that was a truth spell earlier."

Buffy nodded. "Sorry, I didn't know." he added.

"It's fine, we'll just um... restrict questions to non-personal, alright?"

Clark nodded. "Good, though I can wonder about your confessional right?"

Clark laughed. "Yeah. Anyway. You said Buffy Summers? I hope you don't mind, I did a little digging to find more about you earlier. Did you really score a fifteen ninety on your S.A.Ts and turn down the dozen proposals from Ivy Leagues?"

She nodded. "Yeah."

Clark, realizing it was probably personal said, "that's cool. I made a fifteen eighty myself, but I have an editic memory."

"Ah, cool." she said, "no, I just have good instincts. I'm smart at some things, and others come naturally to me."

As they finished their meal, served with the expensive wine, Clark said, "would you like to dance?"

The music level in the room rose significantly in preparation to her response. Buffy nodded, her hand grasping his. Clark watched as the table they were using disappeared, and said, "right, magic. I won't even ask."

"It's a lot to take in," Buffy admitted. The song they were playing was, obviously, classical with a modern twist. It was Bethoven's 5th, played at a faster tempo. Buffy seemed to enjoy it, though Clark had to admit with friends like Lex, his love of the classics had diminished somewhat.

They swayed to the music, using a slightly upbeat version of a ballroom dance that Clark had been taught by his mother. Buffy was wrapped in the music, and he could hear her heartbeat, which was going at a slightly elevated seventy-five beats. Clark smiled, a sweet scent filling their enclosed area.

As the song ended, and another, "Truly, Madly, Deeply" came on, Clark felt the woman in his arms draw close.

It was truly too intimate, considering this was only their first date, but he could live with it, if she could.

They stayed like that for about an hour, matching tempo and beat with the movements of their bodies. She, he realized with a start, was truly good at what she did. She had a coordination that Clark found admirable, and he couldn't help but find it a bit innocent, yet passionate.

They ended the date, Clark paying cash, surprising both her and the waiter. "So, how about that movie?"

She searched him again, and said, "better yet, coffee and desert, then you can take me home."

Clark simply smiled and said, "alright."

She frowned, "no choke, no stutter?"

"I'm not as gutter-minded as most people, if you had meant what you assumed I would think, than you'd have said it differently. Coffee and desert sound fine, by the way."

"You did good, Kent. You passed the second test tonight. Most people would have jumped on the oppurtunity that I wasn't providing, by the way."

"That's alright," Clark said, "so, what kind of desert did you have in mind?"

"Cheesecake, strawberry preferably."

Clark smiled. "There's this deli about three blocks from where I picked you up, but I do feel the need to point out that it's only a block from the apartment I'm staying at."

"Oh?" she asked. Clark nodded, handing her a helmet and kicking the engine. "Well, take me, farmboy."

Clark smiled, and merely grunted as her arms tightened around her for the second time.

They sped past all the traffic lights, which she noticed were always green. She'd never had this good of luck on the streets of L.A. Clark, she noticed, seemed to know where he was going instinctively. As they turned the tight corner of Fifth and Hazelnut, Buffy clutched onto him, waiting to move her body between his and the ground, as Clark righted them both in a speed she hadn't seen displayed before.

They came to a stop outside "Speedy Delivery", where a blond, spiky haired kid in a red jumper was on the phone inside. He waved at Clark, who said, "that's Bart. He's one of Oliver and mine associates."

She smiled. "That's cool. He's... dedicated."

Clark laughed. The deli was small, with a sign that showed it was open 24 Hours. Clark pushed open, where a black guy dressed in loose clothing was smiling. "Victor," he said, "this is Buffy Summers. Victor opened this place about six months, and every time I'm in L.A. on business, I come here at least five times."

"Yeah, and eats me out of house and home, Kent."

Clark looked mollified and said, "fine, we'll go somehere my business is _appreciated_.

Buffy simply slapped him in the head. Clark laughed.

"Vic, she wanted to sample the super-cake."

Victor smiled and said, "be back in a sec, then."

And he was, with a twenty slice cheesecake that had been cut with a pie-knife it seemed. She looked at Clark, and said, "well?"

Clark laughed, picking up two forks and said, "to be honest, he got this recipe from my mom. He just won't admit it. I have it, and the apple pie, whenever I come here."

"I did not Kent!" the man yelled. Clark laughed. She liked his laugh, she realized.

For the next two hours, the two of them, occassionally joined by Victor, finished off the large cheesecake, with the few pieces left over wrapped in aluminum foil for posterity.

Clark, she noticed, was looking at her funnily, but in a good way.

"Thanks," Clark said, slipping Victor the payment. "Anytime Kent."

As they left, Clark said, "well, Miss Summers, should I drop you at the LuthorCorp building, or get directions to your front step? Each has serious repercussions attached, so I'd think carefully."

Buffy simply smiled, and said, "take me home, farmboy."

Clark smiled, and said, "and where is that, exactly?"

Buffy blushed and whispered, "about one block left."

Clark laughed and said, "you've got to be kidding me?"

She shook her head, and, as they climbed his motorcycle for the third time that night, Clark said, "well, this was the best date I've ever had, to be honest."

"Me too," she whispered.

As they turned the corner to the Hyperion, Buffy couldn't help but smile.

_End_


End file.
